By DARRELL SMITH, Sacramento Bee

First, we didn't need to visit the bank teller anymore. Then we were able to stick our checks right into the ATM without an envelope. Now we won't have to leave the house to make deposits.

Tough times are driving record demand for a little-known state program that pays partial unemployment benefits to workers whose hours and wages have been cut.

It's rare when Phyllis Davenport misses the annual reunion in her family's east Texas hometown. But this year, the single mom and her teenage daughter stayed home.

As a 25-year veteran of California's Department of Motor Vehicles, it wasn't a matter of having enough vacation time stockpiled.

When you've been laid off, people tell you lots of things you need: You need to network. You need to go back to school. You need to volunteer. You need to stay positive.
But the newly unemployed will tell you there's something else they need: a friend.

When it comes to hiring, it could be a long, hot summer for teens and college-age students. With employers cutting back and older job seekers horning in on traditional teen-age standbys, it's no picnic looking for seasonal work this year.
Take 21-year-old Amanda Poag, whose job search is not only constant -- but a constant worry.

This isn't work for the faint-hearted. You need perseverance and patience.
You need backbone and a cast-iron psyche.
And you need to sell yourself.
You can make your own hours, but you'd better seek opportunity in every one. The pay? Your next lead, that follow-up interview.
Welcome to your job search. It's work that's as tough as any out there.

It's a recipe any entrepreneur would salivate over: Find a niche. Add liberal amounts of food industry experience, a dash of chutzpah and a catchy name.
And a great-tasting product doesn't hurt, either.

These days, the bad economic news is relentless: foreclosures, furloughs, buyouts, bailouts, red tags and red ink.
Getting tired of it?
So are Carrie Pollare and Dan Hoffman, Santa Monica, Calif. siblings, who've created a fashion statement to fit our frustration.

As a child, Walter Bader was a prisoner of his allergies.
Furniture and toy stores made his eyes water and burn, fragrances sent him into sneezing jags, the supermarket laundry aisle made his chest burn with each breath.
Even his bed made him sick.

SACRAMENTO, Calif. -- Sari Pogue, Kirsten Whitefleet and Jennifer Ramos have something in common: The three young Sacramento mothers share the pain of rising costs for everything from food to gasoline to clothing for their growing children.